Trace
by Riona
Summary: From meeting the Doctor to Satellite Five, this is the life of Captain Jack Harkness.


**Trace**

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* * *

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Captain Jack the conman is smooth and flirtatious and remarkably good at getting what he wants. He descends upon wealthy young men, all charm and smiles**,** offers them a holiday, takes the money and mysteriously vanishes when the destination is destroyed a week before the arrival date. He sells objects of Great Value, which tend to explode before the purchaser gets to look too closely at them. He has sex with a lot of people. Strictly speaking, that isn't a con, but he has sex with them anyway.

When he detects another timeship passing by and lures it in, and within minutes one of the Agents is clinging helplessly to a barrage balloon high above London, he knows it's going to be an interesting day.

Her name, he finds out, is Rose. She is young and pretty and has questionable taste in clothing. She's also quite obviously smitten with him, which makes everything so much easier; or it would, at least, if she didn't keep staring into his eyes and completely missing his business proposals.

Of course, when he, Rose and the Doctor – who denies that his name is Spock – find themselves surrounded by people half-human and half-gas mask, suddenly making the transaction doesn't seem so important any more.

The Doctor thinks that Jack caused this. That he wasn't thinking about the consequences when he crashed the ambulance. That he's doomed the world for the sake of making a bit of cash.

But that's impossible. There was nothing in the ambulance – he _checked_. Nobody gets hurt, that's his only rule. Some people end up quite a bit annoyed, and some people end up with quite a bit less money, and rather more people than absolutely necessary tend to end up with broken hearts, but he would never let anyone actually get physically _injured_.

Which is why, when he finds out that the Doctor _is_ right, that he _is_ responsible for this, he's ready to do anything to make amends.

And if that means the death of him, so be it.

* * *

There are, Jack thinks, certain Problems with travelling in the TARDIS.

Or, at least, there used to be. The problems now are considerably less severe than they were at first. When Jack first came on board, the TARDIS, apparently suspicious of him, had rendered the door to his room inoperable. He had spent several days trapped in the room, with the Doctor and Rose pushing plates of food through an inexplicable catflap in the door and trying not to laugh too much at his plight, and he had only been allowed to leave after he had conversed with the TARDIS at length on the subject of Why I Would Never Hurt The Doctor Or Rose Or Steal You In Order To Go Back To My Conmanlike Ways, Please Let Me Out, TARDIS, Please Please Please Please.

The TARDIS seems to like him now, and it's quite a relief. There are no problems with the company, either; the Doctor thought him selfish and mercenary at first, and Rose felt a little betrayed when she found out what his initial intentions had been, but now they have accepted him as part of the TARDIS crew, and it's a life he loves. He adores them both, more than he'll ever be prepared to let on.

It's not something he's used to, this emotional attachment. It's something new and strange and a little frightening, worrying for them before he thinks about himself, wanting to be with them at every chance he gets, being prepared to do _anything_ if it will keep them safe.

The question of safety comes up rather more often than he's entirely comfortable with. He's able to fight and run and come up with plans on the spur of the moment; he's generally able to deal with battles and danger; but it's still remarkable just how _much_ almost-dying they seem to do. It was easier in the Blitz, when it would just have been him and a few army officers at risk if a bomb were to fall on their building – not that that would ever have happened; he knew the whole war back-to-front. This is the Doctor and Rose at stake, and he doesn't know what he'd do if they were to die. He doesn't like to think about it.

So he doesn't. He lives in the moment, he flirts and he laughs and he can't remember a time when he was this happy.

He tries not to think about memory, either. The fear that he might have done something terrible in the past, the constant nagging feeling - _knowledge_ - that he's forgotten something. When he's alone, working on the TARDIS – he helps because he thinks that he should probably offer something other than companionship and stunningly good looks in return for their saving his life, and he has an idea that he's the only person that the Doctor would ever trust with his timeship, and that thought makes him feel incredibly happy and wanted – he sometimes finds himself trying desperately to remember the two years, even though he _knows_ that it's impossible; the memory was _removed_, there's nothing left to remember. The absence is constantly bothering him, invading his thoughts; the feeling of something that _should_ be there but isn't.

When the Doctor and Rose are around, though, he can absorb himself in banter and laughing and love for them both; and although he can never forget about his missing years, he can push them to the back of his mind. Finding the two years was a constant obsession for him before. The Doctor has done more than save Jack's life; he's offered him a new one, a life in which there are more important things than the person he was or might have been.

He doesn't have a past, but maybe – just maybe – he has a future.

* * *

He (_can't remember being_) has never been so _furious_ before.

He remembers first meeting her, high in the air in front of the clock tower, dancing slowly, her body warm against his own. He remembers being suddenly caught up in her life and that of the Doctor, being constantly pursued as they fled through the hospital, teasing each other in spite of the danger. He had been prepared to die in order to save them, even though they had only just met.

He remembers seeing new planets with them, catching her when she slipped on the frozen ocean. He remembers the moment in Cardiff when she had claws at her throat, when he looked to the Doctor for orders and - although he _knew_ that the Doctor would never let her die - found himself thinking that if he _were_ told to leave her, he would disobey.

Seeing the Doctor now, he hates himself for letting the possibility even cross his mind.

They can't go near him. They can't touch him, he's not going to let them, he'll shoot every last one of them if he has to. Why the hell can't they see that she just _died_ in front of his _eyes_ for some stupid pointless gameshow and it's _killing_ him, why can't they leave him the hell alone?

He sees the _emptiness_ in the Doctor's eyes, and it's somehow terrifying.

He's only half-aware that he's screaming and struggling against the guards, trying to break free, to run to the Doctor and where Rose should be standing. He wants to hold him, to cling to the only thing anchoring him to a world in which there's more to life than missing memories. He wants to be a friend, or a lover, or whatever the Doctor needs right now. He wants her _back_.

The Doctor is frighteningly silent when they're put in the cell, and Jack doesn't move closer or speak to him, however much he wants to. He says nothing when they are questioned, and he is somehow glad that the Doctor doesn't either, because these people don't deserve to hear his voice.

They don't speak to each other, don't make plans, but Jack is half-expecting it when the Doctor turns to look at him and says three cold words, and he knows exactly what to do.

They break out with merciless efficiency, and Jack averts his eyes when the Doctor grabs hold of a guard and slams him head-first into the wall. It's a side of him he's never seen before; a side he didn't know existed. This Doctor is cold and quiet and has no reservations about hurting the people who have taken Rose from him. Now that Jack has lost her, he's terrified that the Doctor he knew may be lost as well.

Jack has never been one for vengeance, but right now he wants nothing more.

* * *

This is where Jack's world ends:

The satellite is hovering far above Earth, and the fleet of spaceships is moving towards it with almost impossible speed. The room is blank and grey, banks of screens spewing information that doesn't matter, not any more. The people around him are tense, nervous, but he barely notices. He only has eyes for two of them.

It is difficult to think of a proper farewell when he is standing alone, contemplating the inevitable fate that awaits him, but when he walks over to them and looks into their eyes he suddenly knows exactly what he is going to do.

His death warrant, sealed with two kisses. It seems oddly fitting.

He tries to laugh about it, joking half-heartedly about wishing that he'd never met them. But he's afraid, of course he is. He's terrified. Not of death itself, but of dying alone. Away from the Doctor and Rose.

He's never been afraid of dying alone before. He's always thought that it would be _preferable_ to die in company, of course – he's always thought that his ideal death would be of sexual ecstasy in the company of at least sixty other beings – but it never occurred to him that a time might come when the prospect of dying away from somebody would be more frightening than the idea of death itself.

But he can't ask them to come with him, because then they will die as well, and that would be _so much worse_. And he could stay – he knows that they wouldn't judge him for staying, and in a way that makes it even more painful than if they had insisted on his going – but he will not let himself, because he cannot let them down. Each kiss is a promise: to Rose, that he will protect her; to the Doctor, that he will prove his worth. Save the human race, or try to. Even if they achieve nothing, even if he dies in the process, it will be worth it. It will be worth it because it is for them.

He's risked death for them before, but that was different; that was _penance_. This should be a nobler sacrifice, should be for the entire human race, but it isn't. He is doing this for _them_, for the Doctor and for Rose, because he loves them. Nothing else matters.

He _knows_ that it's hopeless, knows that he will be killed, and he wants nothing more than to spend these, the last few hours of his life, with the two people who mean more to him than anything else. They could leave in the TARDIS, he knows; could go back to visit Rose's time and laugh and joke and try not to think about how the world will be destroyed in two hundred thousand years, and for a moment the idea seems almost plausible. But he has promised without words that he will try to save this world, and if he goes to face the Daleks then maybe – just maybe – he will buy enough time for them, at least, to survive.

So he claps them on the shoulders, and then he goes to die for them again.

* * *

He _remembers_ death. He stands here, now, and he looks at his body and he runs a hand along his arm and it doesn't make _sense_. He _remembers_ it, the hopeless fear (_no bullets left no bullets did we buy the Doctor enough time? what if... no, I trust him. well, guess these are my final words, may as well sound cool about it_) and the _pain_ and then... nothingness.

Nobody could have faced a Dalek - _three_ Daleks - and lived. They wiped out the whole of Floor Zero. Took them a couple of seconds. One man wouldn't stand a chance.

He stands, now - _alive_ - and he knows that it is impossible. Knows that as he died (how long ago? Minutes? Hours?) there was _pain_ blazing across every inch of his body. He'd been ready to sacrifice himself for the Doctor, and he _had_.

Dying had been more painful than he had hoped. Less permanent, apparently. Well, that was something.

It had to be death. He knows it was death. There's a gap, a _nothingness_ in his mind. He knows unconsciousness. He knows sleep. This is a _void_. Even when his memories were taken from him, there was always the feeling that there had once been _something_ there.

There are small piles of dust on the floor in front of him. He kneels and touches them, wondering - almost idly - if they are the ashes of his own body.

He wouldn't be surprised.

He closes his eyes and thinks back, looks as closely at the void in his thoughts as he can, no matter how much his mind tries to avoid it. He has memories, he realises now, of things he cannot have seen. A woman (_Rose_), eyes glowing. The Doctor, sprawled on the floor and surrounded by Daleks.

Rose. _Him_.

There is an all-too-familiar sound.

He leaps to his feet and sprints into the room and stands there, half in disbelief, watching the TARDIS fade. Tries not to feel betrayed. Tells himself that the Doctor must have thought him to be dead.

He _remembers_ death, and this is worse.


End file.
